


100 Days of Summer

by shewho



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Camp Couselors, Gen, M/M, Pining, Pining!Prouvaire, Porn, Summer Camp, literally pining becuase summer camp in a pine forest, pining!courf, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1358545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewho/pseuds/shewho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Les Amis are all camp counselors and somebody accidentally stumbles upon a fun little surprise in their cabin.</p><p>That's it; that's the fic.</p><p>(this is the preview piece for a larger fic, if you guys enjoy this (alternatively titled "Week 3: That's No Martyr In My Bed"))</p>
            </blockquote>





	100 Days of Summer

                “Courf, come on!” Feuilly called. The redhead was quite literally up to his elbows in tie-dye and ten-year-olds. “I need yoooou!”

                “Two minutes, Feu,” the dark-haired boy pleaded, hands clasped in front of him as he sank down on one knee on the woodchip path leading into the Crafts Den. “I’m beggin’ here. I _gotta_ go back to my cabin and grab some sunscreen; otherwise I’m gonna fry.”

                “Alright, alright!” the ginger chuckled, wiping the back of one hand across his forehead and leaving behind a bright green streak of dye. “Go on then. Oh! Hey, but be quiet when you go in there; Apollo offered Jehan his bed for the afternoon and I’m pretty sure the little bird took him up on it.” At Courfeyrac’s frown of confusion, he elaborated, “His kids were at the lake this morning? And ‘Rel was supposed to be on life guard duty all morning, but he got called out for the day, job interview for the fall, so Jehan had to wrangle all of the kids on his own, which is usually no big deal, but Jehan had a migraine last night—I mean, he’d never _say_ anything, but ‘Rel told me at breakfast—and I’m sure being in the sun all morning surrounded by screaming children didn’t help. So, yeah, pretty sure he’s asleep in Apollo’s bed or actually possibly on the floor because, you know _, Jehan_.”

                “I’ll be like a super spy. He’ll never know I was there.” Courfeyrac popped up to his feet and skipped down the path towards his cabin, skidding on the gravel main road that ran through the center of camp, and slowing to a walk as he approached the walkway that lead up to Cabin Six. He opened the door carefully, making sure it didn’t creak, and shut the screen door behind himself, barely daring to breathe, lest he send the screen rattling loudly. He tiptoed over the threshold and stopped for a moment in the large main room, listening.

                Silence, and then a tiny, high whimper.

                Shit.

                Jehan.

                He started down the hallway on the left towards Enjolras’ room but as he reached the room and peered inside at the empty perfectly-made bed he heard the whimper again, louder, from the opposite hallway. He spun on his heel and padded back through the front room and down the hall towards his own room, still silent. His door, which was supposed to remain closed at all times during the day, was two-thirds of the way open. That, coupled with the horrible mental image of Jean Prouvaire in pain, caused him to hazard a peek inside.

               Instantly, his mouth dropped open and he clapped a hand over it with an audible smack that went completely unheard by the other party. Jehan was indeed lying on Courfeyrac’s bed, but he wasn’t sleeping. At least Courfeyrac didn’t _think_ he was sleeping.

               He personally thought it would be pretty hard to sleep while fucking two of your own fingers into your ass, but maybe that was just him.

               The long-haired boy’s shorts and boxer briefs lay discarded beside his shoes, crumpled in a heap at his feet on top of Courfeyrac’s covers. His shirt was rucked up under his armpits and his hair had begun to come loose from its braid and spread over Courfeyrac’s pillowcase as he writhed. He’d obviously been at his task for a while; his fingers slid easily as he pistoned them in and out of himself in a blur of pale skin and turquoise-painted nails, and both his cheeks and the head of his cock—where Courfeyrc could see it peeking out of the top of his fist—were flushed rosy.

               The dark-haired boy nearly choked on his own tongue when he watched Jehan’s right thumb—the hand with which he was fingering himself—flick down to tug at his rim, causing him to let out a trembling wail, soft and low as it tapered off for a moment before he repeated the movement with identical results. With each brush of his thumb, he thrust up harder into the tightly curled fingers of his opposite and equally dexterous hand. The strand of metal charms on his necklace jangled noisily with each thrust, and he whined faintly, every noise he made seemingly amplified in the silent cabin.

               The air was hot and heavy, the air conditioner turned off while the kids were out for the afternoon, and Courfeyrac could feel sweat beading on his own brow as his dark eyes trailed the beads of sweat that pooled in the hollows of Jehan’s neck and shoulders down his bony chest, dripping slowly between the dark wishbone tattoos at his collarbones.

               “ _Fuck_ ,” he huffed roughly, head turned to the side and eyes squeezed shut tight, lashes casting pale shadows over his cheeks. “Fuck, shit, _fuck, Courf_.”

               Courfeyrac swallowed behind the hand over his mouth as he stared in dumbly numbed shock, feeling his inside liquefy. His brain felt fried, trying too-hard to process the scene in front of him. Jehan. Jehan, who he’d been hot after since the first fucking day of summer, when the younger boy had greeted him with his sunny smile and his friendship bracelets and his braids and his regulation uniform—just for Sundays and Saturdays, to make them look “official” when there were parents in camp leaving their offspring in the charge of a bunch of basically overgrown children— altered to suit his fancy. _Jehan_. In his bed. In his _bed_. _Jehan_ in his _bed._ Fingering himself. _Jehan_ _in his_ _bed fingering himself. Jehan_ _in his_ _bed fingering himself and whispering his name._

               Jehan’s rough, choked-off moans had descended into messy little whimpers that hitched high with every upwards thrust. _Fuck indeed_ , Courfeyrac thought to himself as he pressed his free hand down against the front of his cargo shorts, hard.

               He watched the lean muscles in Jehan’s stomach jump and clench where his shirt had ridden up, heard him mewl helplessly, voice cracking over the “Courfeyrac” he wailed as he came. White-hot stripes of come painted him from his faint happy trail to his sternum as he shook and fell apart, his entire body trembling as his chest heaved. Jehan finally slumped back with a contented sigh, his bones going liquid as his head lolled across Courfeyrac’s pillow.

               He lay still for a moment, cheeks flushed, sweat dampening his hairline from sandy blonde to dark, limbs all over the place as his fingers slid wetly from his body. In a swirl of blue nails, his right hand came up—shiny with lube—to tug his necklace up to his mouth, where his tongue darted out to lick up the spatters of come on some of the charms. His left hand, knuckles already striped white, trailed lazily up through the cooling come on his stomach, the long braided tails of his friendship bracelets sticking to his skin. Courfeyrac groaned softly as Jehan shifted around in his sheets, nuzzling into the covers and smiling sleepily. He slipped backwards quietly, restraining himself from running out the front door as he exited the cabin as quietly as he could and exhaling loudly once the door had shut behind him.

                Once outside, he nearly collapsed against the side of the cabin and slid down the wall to the crunchy dry grass below, squeezing his eyes shut tight. Images of Jehan flashed behind his eyelids, suspended at the edges of his mind. “Oh, face it, you idiot,” he muttered, resting his head against the rough wooden exterior wall. “You’re so fucked.”


End file.
